House of Obsession Review – Reality TV Has Never Been So Real

The Crush House is a hilarious and frenetic reality TV mockumentary that offers a thoughtful commentary on virtual voyeurism.

I always feel a little nauseous when I say I’m a fan of reality TV. It’s undoubtedly a pop culture juggernaut, but it’s also a genre that carries a lot of problematic baggage. Exploitation, humiliation, oversexualization, reinforcement of gender essentialism – the list goes on. The controversial topics the genre grapples with are – to put it mildly – a nightmare, but I just can’t stop. It’s not just drama (although I like I also like to see humanity, you know? I like to see the reality on screen, to see people’s raw emotions.

There’s something endlessly fascinating about this duality of reality TV. What is my role as a viewer by watching these shows? What systems am I participating in when I tune in? The self-proclaimed “thirst shooter” The Crush House sets out to comment on the complexity of this relationship, and succeeds in doing so. It’s a satirical comedy that pokes fun at the superficial and artificial nature of the TV genre, and ends with a playful wink and peace sign. It’s funny, energetic, and has something to say.

In The Crush House, you play as the producer of a 90s reality TV show who must film a cast of hot chicks and their dramas for a huge audience in a bubblegum pink Malibu mansion. You’ll need to record these performers every day, capturing their intimate conversations, petty fights, and passionate romances, all while keeping track of what the audience wants to see. Each day you’ll have to meet the target audience numbers set by the omnipresent “network”, and if you don’t meet those numbers, the show will be canceled and you’ll be asked to leave.

Every day, you pick up a camera in a darkened basement (only the stars wear suits) and head into the mansion. As you start recording, viewers will tune in, and their comments will pop up as text boxes via the live chat on the right side of the screen. Each audience group has different requirements, like drama queens who want to see the actors bicker, or sexy suitors who crave on-screen kisses. It can get very niche, like how plants satisfy landscape lovers, pools and sinks satisfy plumbers, and butt-men want to see butts. Icons on the screen indicate that a specific item or actor is in the shot, and viewers will react to it. When you satisfy multiple viewers at once, icons and comments will start to appear like crazy, and your ratings will soar.

Shooting the right moment is fun and crazy. One minute I’m filming nerdy Veer and quiet Milo (they’re enemies now, but I sense a hint of flirtation between them), but suddenly I spot girl-next-door Hannah and wild card Prisilica making out in the background. I sense something is going on, so I stop recording, run to the pool, and line up my camera just in time to capture their kiss. The Sexy Seekers and Girls for Girls crowd are enjoying themselves, the Plumber starts talking about pool filters, and I make sure to dutch my camera to satisfy the film student. Chat starts instantly, the satisfying little icons pop up, and my view opens up. Perfection. I’m unstoppable. I’m the Kubrick of reality TV.

I love this subversion of traditional FPS norms. Instead of sprinting around a map with a sniper rifle in hand, I’m sprinting through a sun-drenched Barbie building to get the perfect shot of two lovely women kissing. It’s not just about pointing the camera in the general direction of the two actors, but about moving in a certain way to get the best shot. Audiences get bored quickly, so you’re always moving, trying to grab their attention. It becomes more and more challenging to satisfy them over time, and as the network continues to increase the number of viewers you need to satisfy in a day, you need to be savvy in choosing what to shoot and how to shoot it.

Struggling to capture the attention of an audience with the same attention span as a toddler is a comment in itself. My role as camera operator is essentially to objectify the actors, to turn their experiences into commodity sludge for the audience to consume. This means that if you can entertain the audience without filming the actors, then this may break the narrative. The system of the game is such that as long as there are a bunch of objects in the shot that resonate with the audience, they will no longer care about the actors – which may be a comment in itself, but it did pull me out of the frenzy of the activity. It’s rare, but in these moments, the fantasy is completely gone like a glittering bath ball.

Yet the game’s fast pace pushes you along quickly, with plenty of distractions. It’s very self-aware, especially in its satire of reality TV. The cast drinks a seemingly endless supply of “Crush Juice” placed throughout the mansion; the show’s mascot is a creepy, unblinking Phoebe who’s always watching you; and when you’re not recording, grotesque ads play for Dogmilk (a hot dog sausage dipped in milk), giant slow-motion butts from Butts TV, and funeral service subscriptions. Everything is drenched in a pastel filter, and the mansion is filled with palm trees, neon hearts, inflatable flamingos, and 100-degree heat. It’s like you’ve been transported to a sun-drenched hell.

The casting only makes everything more ridiculous. At the start of each season (which lasts one in-game week), you pick four characters from a group of twelve. These hottie hopefuls include typical archetypes like cute lad Alex, sexy ice queen Jo Yumi, and hairy-chested hunk Emil (who made me sickest after announcing “I can’t go two days without drinking”). I’m personally a huge fan of the garrulous “Leave the drama to your mom” Ayo, whose thirst for TV time is endless and insists on getting as many shots of their asses as possible.

All the classic reality show archetypes are present, though there’s far more diversity within the queer community in terms of how people express themselves and what each person’s sexual desires are for everyone else. Meanwhile, relationships change just as quickly as the audience’s perception of them. Blue-haired nightclub promoter Coco and wannabe crypto bro Gunther might profess their love for each other in the morning, only to have a violent argument over margaritas and hate each other by the evening. The drama starts on day one and continues every day until the end of the season. There are lots of different personalities and the petty drama between them, but my love for the cast did falter when I learned that the dialogue isn’t locked to one character but shared between the actors. For example, if you repeat days or replay a game, you’ll see the same dialogue but spoken by different characters, which makes each character lose their individuality.

As you reach the end of the first season, things start to take a turn and you begin to realize that there’s something darker going on beneath the pink pastel surface. A strange voice comes through your intercom, calling you to a previously closed elevator that will take you underneath the house. Things start to unravel from there, and cracks start to show in the perfect paradise facade, including the cast. At night, when the show is off the air, they’ll hang out around the mansion and ask you for advice, mostly about how they’re portrayed on screen. Most of them want to be stars and are willing to participate in the circus of the entertainment industry establishment to achieve that dream. Before they put their masks back on, you get to see their true selves – it’s humanizing and a major reality check. Of course, this isn’t allowed, as the network’s two golden rules dictate: Don’t talk to the cast and the audience is always right. So what happens when those rules are broken?

There are multiple endings to Obsession House, but they all tie into one ultimate “truth” about the house and the reality show. I’m doing my best to avoid spoilers, but if this Barbie-esque mansion is a twisted, disturbing alternative reality constructed for consumers, then what else exists beyond the beaches of this tropical island? prison Paradise? The final conclusion of “Crush House” focuses on how reality TV allows contestants and viewers to escape into an alternate reality – for better or worse.

While there are parts that might temporarily break that illusion, “House of Obsession” still maintains the shiny sheen of perfect plastic (but with dark, gross goo lurking underneath). It touches on multiple aspects of reality TV with pointed satire and wit, including the nature of our relationships with the contestants on these shows, the industrial transformation of people and their lives for entertainment, and the impact that what’s captured on screen has on what happens when the cameras are off. You absolutely want to tune in to watch this episode.

Devolver Digital provided a copy of The Crush House for review.